


Reality

by voculae (northernMagic)



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Fluff and Smut, M/M, Mutual Pining, PWP without Porn, Pining, Sappy, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, sap without consequence, trashy sap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-15
Updated: 2015-10-15
Packaged: 2018-04-26 13:55:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5007307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/northernMagic/pseuds/voculae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bond was an expert in bearing things that ought not to be borne, such as an utterly futile passion for his (young!) quartermaster. One way was to hide it all with drink and determination. However, Bond had found an even more dangerous way to cope.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reality

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Flora](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3960565) by [beaubete](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beaubete/pseuds/beaubete). 



> From "Flora" by beaubete:  
> '“We weren’t—I’m a little surprised that you count—I mean, I didn’t even think of—well. It wasn’t really seeing each other, was it, this time last year?” And he doesn’t want to talk about it over the headsets, that period in their relationship where he’d thought Bond was humouring him and Bond had thought he was only kind of a slag. They’d had it off together for about half a year until Q’d forgot himself and tried to kiss Bond post-blowjob, and after that it seemed rather rote that any man who’d let you feed his own come back to him by mouth might be interested in keeping you around a bit.'  
> 

Never mind how he got into this mess in the first place; it was too late. Bond was a man who fell in love and loved easily, or at least used to, but this-- this was not an easy love. Or rather, it was too easy: Bond only had to think of him, and something in Bond sighed and curled up like a dog in front of a fire.

Bond was an expert in bearing things that ought not to be borne, such as an utterly futile passion for his (young!) quartermaster. One way was to hide it all with drink and determination. However, Bond had found an even more dangerous way to cope.

Bond lived lies and played out fantasies. It all lay in deceiving oneself, and Bond was a master of deception. Though usually a practical man, Bond allowed himself a few fantasies. His favourite? That he was in Q's favour, and in the Quartermaster's bed every night.

Q seemed oblivious, or not obviously faking obliviousness. This was at once a relief and a great source of stress-- would Q let him know that his attentions weren't welcome? Bond hoped so; as a branch head Q should have more than enough spine to confront an errant agent, even if he were a double-oh. But Q still bestowed upon him the occasional smile, or a heart-stopping grin when something went right. 

And in the dim privacy of his office, Q still took him apart and put him back together, like pieces of a well and regularly-maintained gun. The best lies were versions of the truth. 

Bond immersed himself in the charade: that he was surrounded by the love and warmth of his trusted Quartermaster, that Q didn't have a job to do, that they could return to a home at the end of the day and lie in each other's arms and not have to worry about a thing. It was an affecting fantasy, and if Bond had let it linger long after their encounters had concluded, well-- Bond was not the type for introspection.

Sometimes he wondered if he saw a familiar flicker in Q's eyes. They never kissed, but Q sometimes looked like he wanted to kiss him. Hard, biting, possessive kisses especially after a mission, marking Bond in for his inventory-- or maybe that was just wishful thinking. But Q was businesslike even in their fucking, in the efficient way they stripped and Bond gave himself over to Q's inspection, so Bond restrained himself from making love. That didn't stop Bond from taking what he could get.

That meant enduring the exquisite agony of Q's touch on every new cut and bruise, as though the sear of it would heal the wounds. It meant enduring the fantasy that Q was learning him over and over again, committing him to memory, _caring_ for him. The fantasy was much too easy to believe.

With Q's easy company, and with the increasing regularity of their encounters, it was all too easy to believe that he was a priority on the Quartermaster's busy mind.

So Bond believed.

Kneeling before him was the man who safeguarded every aspect of Bond's life. Bond fell into Q's gentle command even as Q deftly opened Bond's flies and took him in his mouth. Bond felt overwhelmingly safe surrounded by Q's warmth, even as Q's satisfied hum nearly swept him away with lust. Q coaxed him with his tongue and his fingers, a little uncoordinated but he learned quickly. 

Bond swiftly succumbed to Q's wishes, with a quiet groan of Q's name, and he refused to be embarrassed by it.

He braced himself for the inevitable cold that would come with Q's abrupt dismissal, as with every encounter in his office so far. He was surprised, then, when he found himself with a lapful of Q and a sudden messy kiss. Q's warm weight was everything that Bond had dreamt of, and he froze, terrified for precious seconds that if he reached out and took, Q would come back to himself and take it away.

It was too late; Q sensed his hesitation, and snapped back as if scalded. 

"I-- I'm sorry, I didn't mean it, I'll just--" babbled Q as he scrambled to stand up, wiping his mouth. His tone abruptly went cold. "You can leave now."

Bond, suddenly bereft, stared back at him. Could it be? Passion swirled in to fill the emptiness left behind.

"No," he said. He reached out to Q, who flinched.

"I can't--" Q snapped, and then balled his hands. He echoed, "I can't. Don't make me do this anymore, I can't keep pretending--I can't--"

Bond's heart ached to see Q so broken even as confidence blossomed inside like an explosion. "Q," Bond replied quietly, wishing he could touch and soothe. "Q. You don't have to pretend anymore. We don't have to." Q swallowed, eyes wide. Bond remained sitting, desperation burning in his chest, and reached for him again. "I swear to you, Q. Please." His voice was rough. "Please."

Q inched forward until his fingertips touched Bond's. He licked his lips, and slowly curled their fingers together. They stayed there tentatively for several moments, staring at each other, before Q seemed satisfied. He trailed his hand up Bond's arm to his shoulder, leaning over Bond until finally, finally, their mouths met again. Q closed his eyes. His long eyelashes made Bond breathless, and the taste in his mouth dizzied Bond. Q tasted like Bond, like he was Bond's to keep. Q deposited himself in Bond's lap again with a moan, squirming against him. Bond held him close, marveling; he bussed a knuckle gently down Q's cheek. Q gasped, eyes flying open.

"James," he cried, fingers digging into Bond's shoulder. Through Q's trousers Bond could feel the blood-hot throb of his release. "Oh!" Q came down slowly, panting; Bond felt Q's last twitches pressed against his cock, and desperately wished he could go again _right then_. Bond soothed himself and Q, drawing him in to rest his head on Bond's shoulder. They breathed deeply, matching each other's breaths.

Q mumbled into Bond's ear, "You could have said something before."

Bond laughed dryly. "Me? Why didn't you say anything?"

Q sighed softly. "I thought you were just humouring me so you could get better equipment."

"I did get better equipment." Bond kissed Q's ear. "And so much more." Bond sighed into Q's hair, "I thought I was just convenient for you."

"Convenient is not the word I would use to describe you," Q muttered but didn't move his head from his rest.

Bond chuckled and buried his nose in Q's hair. He pressed a kiss under Q's ear, and his heart soared when Q shivered in his arms.

Q hummed and nuzzled Bond's neck. "The things I want to do with you..." he whispered, and the possibilities spread before them both. 

"Starting with dinner?" said Bond.

"I choose," said Q. He reluctantly slid off Bond to stand and stretch. Bond stared openly, marveling at the freedom to simply gaze at Q's slim but sturdy frame; he did not have to mix his admiration with a smokey promise. Q smiled and composed himself, then tucked Bond back in.

Here it was, every fantasy Bond had about Q, and he didn't need to believe anymore. "You, Q, are a dream come true."

"Of course. After all, I am _your_ Quartermaster."

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted a birthday present, and I wanted to share. Almost done my thesis!! Also, looking for a beta for my next story!
> 
> Feel free to remix this or any of my other works (with attribution) and drop a link back to me (vocule on tumblr).


End file.
